The Impatient Patient
by quintawrites
Summary: Tony and Ziva are tasked with conducting interviews out of town for an ongoing investigation. It would have been an easy job if Ziva hadn’t gotten sick and Tony had to play nursemaid to a stubborn ninja.


**Hi Friends!**

**Here's another one shot MaidenMoonshine and I both wrote from the same prompt. Please read and review! And check her version out as well! Happy Saturday! : )**

**PROMPT: Tony and Ziva are on assignment out of town together. It's simply an information gathering mission. During the weekend, Ziva catches a cold and is sick and unhappy. Tony takes care of her despite her protests that she is fine. They are in a small hotel room together with not many resources around. How does that go?**

**The Impatient Patient**

"Ziva, for the last time, open your mouth."

A feverish Ziva looked a stern Tony directly in the eye and kept her lips pressed firmly together. She had almost obeyed when Tony adopted the "boss tone" he developed when Gibbs had gone to Mexico. But in the end, the tone was not enough for her to acquiesce to the instrument she knew would seal her fate: the digital thermometer.

Tony ran a hand through his hair, exasperated by his obviously sick but still obstinately stubborn partner. Ziva swore she was not getting sick when they headed out of town on an information gathering assignment – which just happened to be in the middle of nowhere.

She said it was allergies. She said it was the dust in the ancient motel where they were forced to share a dank, one bed, room because all others were being remodeled. They didn't need remodeling, Tony thought, the place needed demolition.

Ziva had continued her campaign throughout their whole first day of inquiries despite her rasping voice and alternately stuffy and runny nose. On the upside, one of the interviewees had come right out with his part in the investigation just to get away from Ziva's germ infested interrogation.

Now it was the dawn of day two and Ziva was clearly sick.

It wasn't allergies. It wasn't dust. It wasn't the climate change from metro DC to the country, as she had claimed last night. Ziva was sick.

Tony has found a thermometer in the car's first aid kit and had come full force at Ziva to get technological evidence of her illness. He thought taking her temperature and seeing the number on the tiny screen would help her come to terms with being sick. Plus, he was worried about her.

Ziva has tossed and turned all night, alternating between hogging all the covers and flinging them off onto Tony in a fit of heat. She had finally settled down – snoring louder than Tony thought possible given her stature – around 4 am when she crawled over to Tony and wrapped herself around his side, her face laid on his chest just inches from his ears. Then she had slept. And Tony, grateful she had settled, did not. He instead listed movies in his head, counted the dings on the ceiling paint and prayed that her cold germs didn't have Ziva's ninja prowess.

"Ziva," Tony said, sitting next to her on the bed. "I'm not playing around here. I need to take your temperature. Ducky said your temperature will determine if we can stay and finish our work. So open up. Please."

Tony said the last word quietly and it was truly a plea. He knew he wouldn't want to, nor could he physically, force Ziva to comply. She would probably have him on the floor before he even got the thermometer into her mouth.

Something about Tony's gentle tone got through to the stubborn agent. She eyed the thermometer once more and then opened her mouth.

"Good ninja," Tony joked with a sigh of relief, flashing Ziva the smile he reserved just for her. "Just a minute and then you can lay back down."

Ziva said nothing but the look on her face let Tony know she had no plans to lay down. The two had been tasked by Gibbs to conduct interviews and they still had a few left. In a scenario in which Ziva wasn't sick, the partners could have likely wrapped up interviews on day two and been home before dark.

Tony had spoken to Gibbs and had orders that they could take an extra day if needed. But he thought it unwise to mention a longer stay in what could have been the Bates Motel.

The thermometer beeped signaling it had captured Ziva's temperature. Tony removed it gently and held it up to read the small numbers: 101.7.

Ducky had said a temperature of more than 99 degrees meant she needed medicine and bed rest. The good doctor did not find it funny when Tony had asked if he could use animal tranquilizers from the nearby farm to fulfill his orders.

Ziva peered over at Tony, trying to read the thermometer for herself. But it was too much work and she flopped back on the pillows.

"It's over 100 degrees, Ziva," Tony announced, moving to the small table to grab the NyQuil he managed to find at the one gas station in "town." "That means a day of bed rest and medicine. No arguments. Ducky's orders."

Ziva frowned. Her throat hurt quite a bit. And secretly, she was too tired from her cold to fight much more. However, she found a hidden reserve of stubborn strength when Tony held a spoonful of blue liquid up to her mouth.

"No, I will not take that," she squeaked out. "It is blue. That is not natural."

Tony held the full spoon steady and pulled out his own reserve of nurturing skills.

"Sweet Cheeks, of course it's not natural. It's NyQuil. But it will help you get better. And then we can finish our work and go home. So, open up, Zi."

Ziva's head was pounding and she could sense Tony near his limit. She could also see the concern in his eyes and couldn't fight the way that made her feel.

She opened her mouth and Tony quickly dished out the two tablespoons prescribed, handing Ziva a bottled water as the taste hit her senses.

Within 20 minutes Ziva was snoring away while Tony did some work on the computer. Two hours later he couldn't fight his own fatigue from the restless night before and laid down. He looked over at his partner, snoring, dark brown hair everywhere, and thought how cute she was even in her current state.

Cute but deadly when needed, he thought with a smirk on his face as he fell asleep.

**Four hours later…**

Tony slowly woke but didn't open his eyes. He had a strange feeling something woke him but couldn't figure out what it was. As he opened one eye, he found himself face to face with a very awake, very close in proximity Ziva.

"Oh!" Tony moved away with a startle. "What are you doing, Ziva? You scared me."

"I was watching you sleep. You were very tired, yes?"

Tony shifted again on his pillow as he checked his watch. He hadn't meant to sleep for so long. His stomach grumbled as he stretched.

"How are you feeling?"

"I am fine," Ziva answered, then added after a pause. "The medicine helped. I want food now."

Tony picked up the meager food offerings menu from the bedside table. Essentially, the area offered pizza or wings. Ziva looked dismayed when Tony began to call the local pizza place.

"I want soup."

"Ziva, that's not going to happen here. You saw the town. There is nothing here besides that pizza place and the gas station/grocery store we passed on the way in."

Tony went back to his phone, pretending not to notice Ziva's pout. When he didn't react, Ziva moved closer and laid her feverish forehead on his hand, staring up at Tony with big puppy eyes.

"No, Zi," he said, already faltering in his decision. "That's not gonna work. But you do need to eat so you can take your next dose of medicine."

Ziva was uncharacteristically quiet. Just staring at Tony and sniffling pathetically.

"Look," Tony said, putting the menu down. "The only way you're getting soup is if I go down to that grocery store, buy soup and a bowl and come back, heat it up in the office and then bring it down to our room."

"That will work for me," Ziva smiled, before slowly sitting up. "I will shower while you are gone."

Ziva went into the bathroom and Tony heard the door click shut before he could say anything more. Knowing he had been manipulated, he threw on his shoes and coat, secretly happy that eating dinner wasn't going to be the fight he had predicted. If his impatient patient wanted soup, that's what she would get.

—NCIS—

Beep! Beep! Beep!

It was the next morning and the thermometer dinged to indicate that it had Ziva's temperature.

Tony took it from her and read happily – 98.6.

"You're in the clear, Ziva," Tony said as he put the thermometer away. "Let's do those last two interviews and get home."

Ziva hopped off the bed, already dressed and ready to go. It was obvious she was feeling much better but Tony wanted to make sure before they checked out.

The night before, Ziva had eaten her soup and was out for the count after Tony plied her with another round of NyQuil. He had tried to give her a third dose in the middle of the night but Ziva had pulled her gun out from under her pillow. That's when he knew she was feeling better.

The two were moving toward the door when Tony doubled back for the bottle of NyQuil and tablespoon. Ziva saw what he had in his hand and backed away.

"No, Tony! The only way I will take more of that blue stuff is if I get to force it down your throat first!"

Tony smirked as he walked past her and out to the car.

"It's okay, Zi. It's for later, in case you start to feel bad again."

Ziva said something under her breath in Hebrew as she got into the car and buckled her seat belt.

"What was that, Sweet Cheeks?"

"Nothing, my little hairy butt. I was saying it tasted bad."

Ziva decided it was not in her best interest to interpret correctly considering Tony was still wielding the medicine bottle.

Tony just chuckled and pulled out of the desolate hotel parking lot.

It was good to have his feisty partner back.

**THE END**


End file.
